Eagles Over the Kennebec

Tuesday. Sunny and still cool. Trash and recycling are at the curb.

Today is Straighten Up The Office Day followed by an hour with the crafters at the library.

I am reading Crystal Soldier for the first time in 20 years and I am glued to the page. Good Ghod, what a great story! The characters are awesome! The world building is great and so far, at about the halfway point, I have no complaints at all.

I was thinking that I would skip the Crystal books, because so very many people have disliked them. Not nearly as many people as disliked the Fey Duology, and not approaching the level of vitriol, but still -- a lot of people really, really disliked these books, and they were not shy of saying so.

I go on record now as saying the critics are wrong.

Firefly is being keeping very close, and is taking every opportunity to climb on my lap to purr and knead and head butt. Her tail is back to normal, and I?

Need to go find breakfast.

How's everybody doing today?
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A Brief History of the Fey Duology

Back in the early 2000s, Steve and I were writing Liaden books for Meisha Merlin and having a pretty good time, except that our paychecks were getting more irregular than we liked. We talked to our agent, who shared the Industry Wisdom that most writers did not put all of their eggs into one literary basket, but branched out, starting one, or even two, other series, under a (or several) pen names. They key was not to compete with yourself, because the intention of the secondary line was to smooth out the cashflow, not to supplant the primary work.

So, we brainstormed, we three, and we came up with an idea that was Nothing At All like Liad (saving a Regency-like setting for the human settlers), a Deeply Dark SF-grounded Fantasy which would be marketed under a pseudonym.

It was a good plan, and it might even have worked.

Except Other Events Overtook Meisha Merlin, and we were not only out of a job, but we were out a $ignificant amount of Back Royalties Owed. The sequel to The Tomorrow Log was a victim of this cataclysm. Fledgling-on-the-web was a benefit. Sharon re-entered the mundane world and took up the melant'i of departmental secretary at the local Little Ivy.

For a Period of Time, we didn't know if we would retain our rights in the Liaden Universe, or if they would become part of the assets of Meisha Merlin sold to satisfy its creditors.

Our agent therefore had one thing in hand to try to sell for us, so that our cats wouldn't have to go live under a bridge -- the proposal for two dark "fantasies."

And -- all honor to her -- she sold them. To Baen. Under the condition that they be published under the Lee and Miller byline.

Money talks. We took the deal. We shouldn't have taken the deal, but we were, frankly, afraid. I don't wish to paint Baen as a villain; in fact, they threw us a much-needed lifeline, and the fact that we've been publishing with them since 2008 tells its own tale.

But the Fey books -- written against, as you might say, the Liaden books -- the reaction to those books nearly finished me as a writer. Wow, did people hate those books, and they wrote to us, and they were Betrayed, and Horrified, and one woman said she had Thrown Away all of her Liaden books and -- my ghod, what a mess.

And I was still working as a secretary at the college. Not my finest hour.

But! A happy ending. Meisha Merlin returned the copyrights to all of its authors; we resold ours to Baen, who, as I mentioned above, we've been working with ever since.

And we never tried to establish a second series again.

Important Stuff First:  I saw Firefly's tail at Full Upward Extension last night.  This morning, she's preferring half-mast, which may mean it's hurting her still.  I can give her the pain meds at noon, and will be doing so.  She did come to snuggle with me when I thought I was going to get up this morning, so we stayed in bed a little longer, talking about how scary That Whole Thing was and how was she feeling now, and articles I'd read about dogs who'd broken their tails and had to get them amputated before there was Serious Damage gone to their spines, and how I'd been really, really scared that she'd gotten cancer wrapped around her spine like her Aunt Sprite, and -- well.  We promised each other not to do this again.

A little later, she joined me for our sitting-in-the-sunlight session.

Yesterday afternoon, I made an appointment to walk an alpaca at Northern Solstice Farm in a couple weeks. There will be a meet 'n greet with the alpaca who agreed to walk with me that day, who will already have donned halter and lead, then an approximately 30 minute stroll either around the farm, or, if conditions aren't too squishy, on a trail through the woods.  Now I remember why I have hiking boots.  I'm really looking forward to this, and glad I didn't let myself talk myself out of it.

Other than that, and actually related to the alpaca walk, I'm trying to unfold myself -- which is to say, to find the way back out of my head after the Intense Concentration required to finish Kin Right on time and correctly.  Steve would have had us out and about, walking up and down the world, breathing the air, taking photographs, eating out, and striking up conversations with strangers chance-met on beaches, in train stations, or in stores.  

I . . . am not that ambitious, left to myself, and the timing's a little unfortunate, as I find it's Easter weekend (how did that happen?).  So, unfolding will take the shape of puttering around, straightening up, making hummus, blowing the dust off of my poor, abandoned glass project, maybe finding another movie/tv show to lightly binge, and planning a ride for next Wednesday or Thursday, when the weather is expected to be warmer and sunny.

The secret of writing is that you can't write all the time.  So -- aside an infodump, and blog posts, no Writing here at the Confusion Factory for the next bit.

Reading, though . . . I've finished reading Balance of Trade, and also Theo of Golden.  I'm about half-way through Seeking Persephone, and after that?  Crystal Soldier.  Speaking of literary whiplash.

And I think that catches us up.

Here's a picture of Firefly, from this morning's sunshine session:

Today's blog post title brought to you by Dire Straits, "Skateaway"

Friday. Rainy and cold.

Firefly is back at the vet's because her tail ISN'T WORKING. I can see a tiny hump at the base where she's apparently trying to lift it, but it's not moving. I played with her, and while she was happy to Stalk the Wily Braided Leather Cord, her tail didn't move -- it followed her, because it's attached, but there were no twitches at the very tip, as is usually seen on a Cord Hunt. I stroked her tail and the base of her spine and she's not in pain; and I can't begin to imagine how you break your tail, but -- vet. Cat Not Right.

So, that's upsetting. Again.

Also, Past Me decided it was necessary that Present Me be alerted to the fact that today is the day I am as old as Steve was when he died, and put it on the calendar. WTF, Past Me?

Sarah is due in about an hour. I need to find something to eat, and a cup of tea. Oh, and pick up the house.

Good thoughts for Firefly, if you have them to spare, would be most appreciated.

I see a robin in the tree outside my office.

Breakfast was onion, potato, mushroom, tomato, sausage link ... stirfry, let's say. With shredded cheese added at the table.

For those coming in late, Firefly has gone to the vet because she is clearly not well, and is being held for examination and bloodwork, since there were no Actual Appointments available today.

Tali and Rook have apparently decided that the best use of their (diminished) resources is for one of them to Keep A Very Close Eye on me while the other searches the house. I am currently under the censorious eye of Arbiter Rook Thunderpaws. This is actually very kind of them, even with the censoring, since I'm kind of a wreck.

Offers of assistance are appreciated, but right now -- waiting is.

In a few minutes, I'll put waiting to work, on account the Cast of Characters ain't gonna finish itself.

When I called the vet to explain the problem, I first said, "Her tail's broken," and than had to back up and explain that, unless something is Very Wrong, Maine Coon cats carry their tails high and proud. I had done what inspections I could, but found nothing apparent, thus my call on the experts. Firefly *was* purring when she was sitting on my lap this morning as we took the happy light, but something's clearly wrong. I'm very grateful that her regular vet was able to let me bring her in, so she could be examined and tested as time presented itself in her very full day.

So, that's where we are here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory. Waiting for a phone call and trying not to freak.

I'll check back in when there's something to report.